Meta

First Steps: Calling the Lifeline

If someone had told my seven year old self that I would become a time traveller when I got older, my daydreaming imagination would have soared. Could I go back to the periods my American Girl dolls were...

If someone had told my seven year old self that I would become a time traveller when I got older, my daydreaming imagination would have soared. Could I go back to the periods my American Girl dolls were from; could I go on adventures in the future? Could I visit people who were no longer with me or could I visit my own self? Would I travel in a machine or could I just teleport at the snap of a finger? Having a superpower in my 20’s doesn’t sound too shabby.

What I struggle to comprehend is the power my time travelling has over me sometimes, and it isn’t super. PTSD can bring me back to a traumatic moment in time almost instantly, and lying on my couch late at night tosses me into the worst night of my life, the pain and helplessness charging at me from every corner of my apartment until I am a sobbing, shrieking ball on my bathroom floor. I did not ask to be taken there. I didn’t plan the trip, nor did I see it coming.

I cannot control the places my PTSD takes me, but I can control where I go from there. When I had the worst panic attack of my life fresh out of the psychiatric hospital, I knew I couldn’t turn to self-destruction like I would have in the past. I have a huge arsenal of coping skills yet the mental and physical lists felt like a foreign language to me in my moments of panic. The only thing I could think was, “I cannot be alone,” so through my swollen, wet eyes, and my shaking fingers texted a few friends: “Are you awake?” At about 1am on a weeknight, I got no response, so I texted Crisis Text Line, then quickly realized I needed something more. I called a local mental health resource which also didn’t have anybody available to help at that moment. I needed something immediate. I knew that beyond anything else I may have needed to help me feel safe, I needed somebody. I took a big gulp, googled “Lifeline,” and clicked the number: 1-800-273-8255. I knew this number by heart. I gave this number to many people many times. I write for this number’s blog. I have never called this number before in my life. The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline.

In the moment, I couldn’t remember the number (that I now have saved as a contact in my phone); I couldn’t remember anything besides the despair of the night I tried to take my life. I did not feel suicidal while having these flashbacks, but I did feel like I was going to die. I wish I could recount the entire experience I had calling the Lifeline, but I mainly remember the feelings: comfort, safety, worthiness, unity. I don’t remember the woman’s name on the other end of the line, but I remember the power of hearing her voice: new yet familiar to me like hearing a song for the first time that you feel was written just for you. I remember the power in the quiet moments, too: the moments I didn’t feel the compulsive need to fill with chatter, but felt safe just being. While the counselor and I came up with great ideas to combat my intense panic during flashbacks which I now can turn to almost automatically, the most valuable part of the phone call was feeling accepted.

Calling the Lifeline, I felt safe being myself. I did not have to pretend or sugarcoat; I did not have to filter my words; I could just be. I could express myself the way I truly was at any given moment and I knew I would not be rejected or deserted. I could bawl into the phone and not worry about upsetting the person listening. I could stumble over my words like a child taking their first steps, unsure of whether I could hold myself up as I moved forward but having the reassurance that there would be a pair of hands to catch me if I fell. The acceptance from the counselor on the other line gave me the freedom and permission to accept myself in those moments, to accept the struggle I was facing and remind myself that it is okay. To remind myself that I was okay.

In the past I would always debate with myself over whether to call the Lifeline, and even on the nights when I deemed myself worth the help, I would retreat into my anxiety and decide against it, afraid simply of hearing any of the words coming out of my mouth. Afraid of conversation itself. The night I called for the first time, the hardest part was honestly dialing the number. The rest of the exchange was fluid: a river dispelling my fears and baptizing me awake, bringing me home to myself. I didn’t hang up the phone until I felt safe and confident in the moments ahead of me, and the counselor reminded me that they are there whenever if I need them again.

What terrifies me most still is being alone in my apartment at night, the parallels to the night I thought would be my last roaring loud in my ears until it is hard to hear anything else, so the comfort in knowing the Lifeline is here if I ever need someone and the rest of the world feels unreachable is a true blessing. It is the difference between feeling hopeless and feeling human, having that unconditional support available no matter the crisis, even if I am not suicidal, even when I just need a friend to get me through a particularly thick fog of pain. The Lifeline helped me see clearly the road toward the sunrise and I would like to remind others that if they need a map to find the light, too, the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline is always here for you.

I may not be able to completely control my time travelling at this point, but it fills me with confidence to know that there is an immediate way to open up the space between a flashback and the present: that I have more say about where in time my mind decides to go than I initially thought, that there is a way back and I am not stuck there forever, that the familiar new voice that can help take me there is just a phone call away at any given moment. I just have to take the first step.

Comments

I am there. I have been carrying the number with me for the last 2 days. My alien bi-polar brain has struck again and in thinking I was helping, I hurt, did the unthinkable and totally alienated a friend of the family and my parents. I feel so dead inside. I feel worthless, unkind and callous. The odd thing is though, if you were to ask anyone, they would tell you that I am very kind, caring and empathetic. However, I have a brain that does not understand social expectations, but I have a heart that knows how you are probably feeling. Then I open my mouth and my heart comes out and everyone looks at me as though I just shot someone. It is often unacceptable to say the truth. In my line of work, I have helped hundreds, maybe thousands of people because I could feel their feelings. I was strong for them and I helped them get through. The very worst thing is that I couldn’t help my son. I knew from birth that things weren’t right. I spent 21 years trying to help him and I knew someday that if I couldn’t get help, he was going to die by suicide even though family and medical people told me I was exaggerating. My 17 year old granddaughter lives with me. The first 5 years of her life was filled with fear. She is just beginning to act her age, not 30 years older. She is just beginning to reach out into the world outside her comfort zone of her room and the three of us. She has been my strength when I think, “I wonder who would miss me if…” I’ve thought that way but never felt that I would actually hurt myself. I can’t see hurting myself now, but a big part of me is not too sure or feeling very strong. I would just like to disappear, but that would send my granddaughter into a place she may never return from. I need to call the hotline and my doctor, but what I did was so socially unacceptable, I cannot bring myself to tell them what happened. Maybe we can just talk.

Sue, we’re so sorry for all these struggles you are going through and we want to help. Please call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-TALK. The call is free and confidential, and crisis workers are there 24/7 to assist you.

I too have the Crisis number in my “contacts” on my phone. And I have called numerous times when the world was crashing down. They are my “blessing” at times when I struggle to find reasons to go on. With a history of suicide attempts, I know the warning signs. Having “suicidal tendencies” is a fact that I must carry with me. Its simply a matter whether I act on them.